The Junkyard
by AKAtheCentimetre
Summary: College junior Demeter Felina finds herself working at The Junkyard, a well-known homeless shelter in Boston. What and who she finds there will change her life forever... ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1: Introduction to the Junkyard

Hi everyone! This is my first CATS fic – it's AU/human!cats, set in Boston in October 2007, and hopefully up to par with some of the excellent fics I have read in the CATS section. I hope you enjoy it!!! It might be rated M later on, but for now it's T.

**SUMMARY:** College junior Demeter Felina finds herself working at The Junkyard, a well-known homeless shelter in Boston. What and who she finds there will change her life forever…

**WARNINGS: **language, mentions of homelessness, drug addiction, abuse, and extreme poverty.

**DISCLAIMER:** CATS is, unfortunately, not mine. Goshdarnit.

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**The Junkyard**

**Chapter 1: Introduction to the Junkyard**

"Rina."

_Schnooorrr._

"Rina!"

"…piss off."

"Oh, come on, Rina," I said cheekily, poking my roommate repeatedly as she wriggled around in her bed, trying to get away. "It's eight-thirty already! We're going to be late!"

My friend's flaming red hair emerged slowly from underneath the covers like a deep-sea creature, eyes blazing through half-closed lids. I choked back a giggle, schooling my expression into one of mock sternness.

Rina's glare abruptly broke as she yawned, and she stretched her arms out above her head. "Give me – " she considered a moment, squinting in the bright sunlight that was shining into our dorm room. "Three. Three reasons why I should care."

I snorted and got up off her bed, straightening my button-down black t-shirt, nearly tripping over one of the several large textbooks which were lying scattered about the floor. "Ok then. One," I said loudly, walking over to the long mirror which hung on the grubby white wall and peering into it at my pale skin. "We need to complete this internship if we want to graduate with degrees in public health."

"Demi," Rina groaned, pulling her quilt back over her head. "You of all people should know that I can't talk about school at this ungodly hour of the morning. Not unless I've had _several_ cups of coffee first."

"Second," I continued, ignoring her complaints as I checked my tousled blond-brown hair, "we have a duty to help society. Working in a homeless shelter seems a good way to prove it."

I ducked just in time to avoid the copy of Gina Kolata's _Flu_ which had been chucked at my head from Rina's general direction. A long, low growl crept out from beneath the covers. "Caaaffeeeeiine…"

I grinned at my reflection and settled one tiny piece of wayward hair back into its place. "And third," I said matter-of-factly, "we're getting paid."

_3…2…1…_

"I'm up! I'm up!"

I laughed as a redheaded blur suddenly dashed past me out into the corridor of our dorm, burdened with towels, flipflops, and all the other necessities for making it in and out of our shabby common bathroom-cum-showerhouse alive. "You're so predictable!"

"Well, I am _so_ sorry!" she called back over her shoulder. "Don't leave without me!"

I will be the first to admit that Tufts Medical School isn't exactly John Hopkins, or Harvard Medical, or any other famous institution you might have heard of. Nor are the dorms luxurious, fancy, or even comfortable. But the neighborhood made up for absolutely anything. As Rina and I stumbled (well, _she_ stumbled in her high heels – I had to catch her, of course) out of our dorm building, we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Boston's humming Chinatown, the streets already stuffed full with infamous Boston traffic and the sounds of various animals squawking, old Chinese ladies chattering away to each other while they did shopping, and drivers being horrifically rude to each other. Above it all floated a mélange of odors so strong it had taken me several weeks to get used to it, even though I had spent most of my life in New York City – of dumplings, cooking meat, and the smoke from the exhausts of all the buses emerging from the nearby South Station.

I took in a deep breath of fresh – if you could call it that – air while Rina reached down with a growl of frustration to fix her shoes. "Alright," she said as soon as she straightened back up again. She pointed fiercely to a Dunkin Donuts which was about a block away – and also in the opposite direction of the shelter we were supposed to be going to. "Coffee! Now!"

"Rina! We don't have time! C'mon, seriously – we're meeting our boss in – " I glanced at my watch " – augh! Ten minutes! Come on!"

"Fine," Rina growled, stalking behind me as I hurried down the sidewalk, narrowly dodging groups of teens and children milling about in front of a run-down public high school. "But you will be held solely responsible for the consequences of my caffeine-less actions. Got it?"

I let out a snort of laughter, tossing my head happily as I crossed a small street – the sun burst out from behind the buildings we had been walking next to, warming my face for a few brief moments before we plunged back into shadow again. "Honestly, Rina. What on earth did you do last night, anyway?"

"Went down to Jillian's for the Sox game," she said casually as she drew level with me, her heels clicking smartly on the sidewalk. "Great crowd. Just the right balance of screaming sports fans and sexy guys to dance with." She winked at me cheekily. "You should have come. You would have enjoyed it."

"I'm a Yankees fan, remember?"

"Ah! Sacrilege!" she cried melodramatically, placing a fluttering hand on her chest. "You are no longer my bosom friend!"

I turned away from her, chuckling – and, because this was Boston, fervently hoping that no one on the street had heard me admit I liked the Yankees better than the Red Sox. I had no wish to die young.

As we waited for the lights to change so we could cross to yet another block, heading closer to South Station and the Chinatown Gate, I looked up and just caught a glimpse of the building we were heading towards. It was a large brick block, looking very run-down and worse for the wear. Some of the windows were broken, and the bricks were sooty at first glance.

And yet, the hulking edifice was the heralded triumph of Boston's public health and social services – the most successful, most highly-thought of homeless shelter in New England. Part orphanage (with kids who aced their SATs), part refuge for single mothers on the run from their husbands (all of whom were found homes within a month), and part your run-of-the-mill pit stop for many of Boston's homeless, The Junkyard was something I had heard of even before I had decided I wanted to major in public health – before I graduated from high school, even…

…let's just say Rina and I had had quite a fight on our hands for the applications, let alone to get selected for the two internships they offered each semester. Only a combination of threats, cajoling, and 4.0 GPAs through our freshman and sophomore years had given us a fighting chance.

Now, I couldn't repress a small shiver of excitement as we approached the main door of the building. I looked over at Rina, and saw that she, too, was nervous in her own peculiar way – she was smiling broadly, and her walk had become slightly bouncier.

I reached out for the door handle, glancing up for a moment at the huge sign we were standing under – _The Junkyard, A Refuge For Those In Need_. "Ok. Here we go. We're going in to meet D – "

" – Daniel Jenkins, founder and head of the facility," Rina said quickly. "I know. Let's get in there."

I took a deep breath and pulled.

The interior of the building was nothing like the outside, as we stepped into a small, but neatly painted and clean lobby area. A large desk stood to one side, flashing monitors stacked behind it – one of them showed our pale faces in flickering neon blue. A man was sitting in a swivel chair behind the desk, and he peered at us in a friendly manner as we approached. "Can I help you?" he said blandly.

I could tell that he was tall, even sitting down. He was probably in his mid-thirties, his face lean and craggy, with twinkling blue eyes. An earbud microphone snaked its way out of his salt-and-pepper hair. The tag clipped onto his navy shirt said "ALONZO BOOTS, SECURITY."

"Er…" I stammered. Rina looked at me and quickly took over, sweeping up to the desk with her ever-present grace clearly apparent.

"We're here to see Mr. Jenkins," she said brightly, smiling at Mr. Boots. "We're the two new interns from Tufts Medical School, we were asked to come today."

"Alrighty," the guard replied kindly. "One moment." He turned to an intercom which sat on his desk and pressed a button, leaning forward to speak into it. "Two Tufts interns to see Mr. Jenkins," he intoned clearly.

There was a moment of silence in the lobby, then a smooth, rich voice spoke back. "_Which Mr. Jenkins, 'lonzo?_" the unknown man drawled, his Boston accent thick.

I grinned as I practically heard Rina's ears prick up. "Daniel Jenkins," I whispered to Boots, who nodded and pressed his button again.

"Mr. Daniel."

Another man's voice chimed in, this one lighter than the first, and with no trace of an accent. "_He's out,_" this man said briskly. "_I'll be right down once I'm finished with the kids, Alonzo. Give me a few minutes._"

"Sure thing, Mike," Boots said gruffly, clicking off the intercom once he was done speaking. He smiled up at Rina and I and gestured behind us. "Please, take a seat. Mr. Jenkins will be down shortly."

Both of us turned around and made our way somewhat hesitantly over to a row of chairs that was on the opposite side of the lobby. As we sat down, Rina whispered to me – "How many Mr. Jenkinses are there in this place?" she asked curiously, eyeing Boots as he turned away to look at his monitors.

I shrugged. "I don't know," I whispered back. "I've only heard of the one."

Rina made a face and crossed her legs, her foot jiggling. I leaned back uncomfortably in my chair, ready to get up at a moments notice. To be quite honest, I hadn't expected such a – well, _clean_ reception from a homeless shelter. I had thought I would have been shoved straight into a long room filled with rows of beds and filthy old men in ragged coats and boots.

Clearly, I had been wrong. Maybe, I mused, that was why the place had such a great reputation.

We sat there for several minutes, eyeing a white door which presumably led to the rest of the building. The silence felt oppressive after a while – Rina just sat there, irritated, and Alonzo obviously wasn't inclined towards idle chatter.

Suddenly, a commotion could be heard from the other side of the door. I sat up straighter as footsteps thundered towards us, apparently down a staircase – several pairs of footsteps, to be precise.

"Heehee! Mikey, catch meeeeee!"

"Lizzy! You really shouldn't do that, you'll give me a heart attack before my time!"

"You're so uptight, Mikey."

"And _you, _behave yourself. Ow!"

"Aw, Mikey. You know you love us."

"Of course I do, silly. Now go on back upstairs – Vicky, come on…"

"Piggyback! Piggyback!"

"Augh!"

And with that, a man a few years older than Rina or I came – well, _piled_ was more like it – into the lobby from the door we had been so anxiously watching, three children of varying ages hanging off him as though he was their security blanket. A boy of about ten peered out at us nervously from between the young man's legs, a pale brunette girl around eight years old clung to one of his arms, and firmly entrenched on his back, clutching the man's windswept black hair, was a preteen girl with hair so blond it almost looked white.

Rina and I both jumped up from our seats in surprise at this sudden entrance, and the children themselves seemed so shocked at seeing us that they immediately let go of their protector, scampering back into the stairwell. The man turned to watch them go and then looked at Alonzo, who was chuckling mightily. The newcomer didn't seem to have seen us yet.

"What?" he said cheerfully, as he pulled the sleeves of his white shirt straight and brushed off his dark blue jeans. I immediately recognized his voice as the second one we had heard on the intercom.

"Nothing," Alonzo laughed. "You really do spoil those kids, you know."

"And why shouldn't I?" The new arrival cocked his head.

"No reason," Alonzo said. He nodded towards where Rina and I were waiting on the other side of the lobby. "The interns to see you."

The man turned around and looked at us, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. _Oh dear. Oh very dear._

The description of the internship had definitely not mentioned the perk of working with gorgeous men.

The dark-haired beauty (_man_, I had to tell myself, just a _normal man_) finished buttoning his cuff and smiled at us, a real, genuine smile which seemed to spread right into his sparkling green eyes. He held out his hand to Rina, looking surprisingly gallant. "Michael Jenkins. How are you?"

"Good!" Rina chirped, apparently not fazed in the least. "I'm Rina Baxter. Very nice to meet you."

He shook her hand once firmly and then turned to me, his smile even wider. "And you?"

I hesitated a moment – more out of shock than anything else – before I took his hand. His palm was warm and smooth. "Demi," I said shakily. "Er – Demeter Felina."

"Pretty name," he said warmly, not letting go of my hand. "Italian?"

"Yes…"

"Thought so," he said almost teasingly, letting go of my hand (it promptly fell to my side and just hung there). "Wonderful to meet you both. I'm sorry my father couldn't be here to meet you, but he was called away on urgent business."

"Your father?" Rina asked curiously. "Is he Daniel?"

"That's right. We run quite a family operation here," Michael said with a grin. "I'll show you around – come."

He gestured with a hand towards the door he had come through, and ten started towards it, clearly expecting us to follow. I exchanged an excited glance with Rina and then we both started walking. I had a hard time not staring at Michael's – well-muscled – back as he went up the stairs, taking them two at a time and then waiting for us to catch up every time he reached a landing. He talked as he did so, his voice echoing in the stairwell.

"So – welcome to the Junkyard," he began. "I'll just tell you a little bit about us, in case Tufts didn't describe what we do here. Basically, our operation runs in three parts – first, a well-established orphanage, which is connected to Massachusetts Social Services. We work together with them to get any kids we take in into good foster homes, and take care of them in this building for as long as necessary until they can be adopted by a family."

He turned and grinned at us, standing in front of a door which presumably opened onto another floor. "Second is our facility for maintaining single-mother families. We've dedicated a whole floor of this building to maintaining temporary lodgings for single mothers who either are too poor to support themselves or who are fleeing from abusive husbands. They are more than welcome to bring their children with them – the average amount of time most of these families end up staying here is a week to a month."

As he was speaking, he opened the door he had stopped in front of, and Rina and I both poked our heads around the doorjamb. Before us was a very clean corridor, with several rooms leading off from it. Each door had a number and a chalkboard nailed onto it, proclaiming names such as "Martha Thomlinson", "Jane Engels", and so on. It almost looked like a hotel, and almost all the rooms seemed to be occupied.

Michael waited until we had looked our fill (I was almost leaning across him, and had to fight to keep a blush from spreading quickly across my face) and then closed the door, starting to climb the stairs again.

"Finally, we have a more conventional facility on the ground floor for the homeless, with a capacity of about fifty beds per night," he said, his voice magnified by the enclosed space of the stairwell. "On the first floor is the canteen, beds and showers for the homeless; second floor, single mothers; third floor, administration; fourth floor, orphanage; and fifth floor, overflow beds just in case of an emergency."

"I'm impressed," Rina said, and contrary to her usual practice of flattery she actually did sound like she was. "It's all very well organized."

Michael inclined his head gracefully (my heart skipped a beat) and opened yet another door for us to go through – this one to the third floor, administration. "Thank you. We've all worked very hard to make this place as efficient and helpful as it can be."

We shuffled onto the third floor, which looked much like any normal office space – the wide floor was divided into small cubicles separated by plants or mesh panes, an air conditioner was running (it was October, but it was still stifling inside the building), and at the far end of about five or six desks was a door labeled "_D. Jenkins_." Rina and I stood uncertainly near the door as Michael closed it behind us, not sure what we were supposed to do.

I jumped when a chair suddenly scooted out from a cubicle and almost rolled over my toes, its occupant smirking up at the three of us. "Well, well – what have we got heah?" he said, the voice instantly recognizable as the one Rina and I had heard down in the lobby, its Boston accent thick.

This time I really did hear Rina's ears perk right off her head. The man who was lounging in front of us was quite impossibly attractive – model material to be sure. His blond hair was shaggy and half-tied back in a messy ponytail, his skin was tan, and his black tie was only loosely tied around his collar, giving him a perpetually naughty look. He, too, was only a few years older than us, and maybe one or two older than Michael.

His grey eyes twinkled as he grinned up at us. "Why don't ya introduce me, little bro?" he said, nodding at Michael. I could see that he was already sizing up Rina, and she certainly wasn't complaining about it.

Michael chuckled, a little ruefully it sounded to me. "Rina Baxter, Demeter Felina – my older brother, Thomas Jenkins. He's our chief accountant and procures donations for us. We're a non-profit, so it's very important work."

"Very important indeed," Thomas said as he hauled himself up from his chair and gave each of us a cheek little bow (he bowed deeper to Rina than to me). "And please, ladies, _do_ call me Tom."

"My pleasure," Rina said, smiling in her turn. It almost sounded like she was purring, and I had to force down a grin.

Michael looked at me and rolled his eyes slightly, and I grinned shyly back at him. His eyes really were very green. He turned to his brother and said, "Is dad back yet?"

"Pops? Nah," Tom said, tearing his eyes away from Rina and leaning casually against the wall of his cubicle. "Jennifer's been down heah looking for you, though."

"Jennifer?" I asked curiously.

"Jennifer Dotherings," Michael said warmly. "Our head matron for the orphanage. She's an incredible woman – everyone I know wishes she was their mother. And the way she takes care of the kids – "

Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by a small body which stumbled into Michael, throwing him towards me. I was close enough to smell his cologne – it was fresh, and reminded me of the scent of freshly-cut grass – before he steadied himself, and the three of us looked down to see a child clinging to Michael's leg.

She was tiny, barely five or six years old, and skinny – she almost looked malnourished, but after hearing about what care Jennifer took with the children I concluded the girl couldn't have been in the shelter long to still look as emaciated as she did. She peered up at us with tear-filled blue eyes from underneath her hair, a wild mix of red and brown, and let out a small sob.

"Jemima," Michael said, obviously surprised, as he knelt down and placed his hands on the little girl's shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"B-Bruce is here," she said tremulously. "H-he looks really bad, Mikey – I'm scared – "

"Where?" Michael said firmly, his voice suddenly hard and filled with tension.

Little Jemima instantly turned and fled towards the flight of stairs we had been climbing, heading still further up. Michael looked at Rina and then me, then gestured with his head for us to follow him as he rushed after the girl. I cast a scared, confused glance at Rina – a glance that was returned in kind – and then followed.

We pounded up the stairs in single file, and emerged into yet another dormitory room where Jemima waited for us, twisting her hands within each other. At first glance, the room seemed empty, and silent but for our shallow gasps for breath.

"M – Mikey…"

A trembling voice suddenly came from the farthest bed. Little Jemima let out a quiet sob of distress and covered her ears as Michael hurried forward, his face set in concern. Rina followed him, while I put an arm around Jemima's thin shoulders and followed more slowly, not sure what to expect.

Michael was already sitting on the bed and wiping its occupant's face gently with a white cloth by the time Rina and I saw who it was – I let out a gasp. Lying there was a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old at the most, his brown hair tousled and matted with sweat. His face was cadaverously pale. His body shook and jerked under the thin sheet that covered him, and his hands clutched with a desperate strength to Michael's shirt as the older man leaned over him.

"Mikey," the boy rasped. Jemima flinched and huddled closer to me. "Mikey, i-it hurts…Mikey, h-help…"

Michael glanced up for a moment, first at Rina, his eyes finally settling on my face. "Rina," he said quietly, a note of urgency in his tone, "please take Jemima away. Call for Jennifer, she'll come and find you."

Rina nodded swiftly and gently pulled the young girl out of my grasp, allowing the little dear to lean on her as they made their way quickly out of the room and down the stairs we had come up. Michael jerked his head to me, and I nervously approached the other side of the bed, kneeling down so my head was about level with the boy's.

Michael handed me a wet cloth which he had pulled from a cabinet standing next to the bed. "Hold that to his head and neck," he said quickly. "He'll be sweating for a while. We need to keep him cool."

The boy thrashed suddenly, and I needed to hold his torso down with one hand while I applied the cloth to his face with the other. "What is this?" I asked numbly.

"Cocaine withdrawal," Michael replied instantly, prizing one of the boy's hands off of his shirt and enveloping it firmly in his own. "It's incredibly painful. Come on, Bruce – it's ok, Brucey. I'm here, it's all right…"

The boy – Bruce – shuddered again, and I swallowed hard. "How long has he been addicted?" I whispered.

"At least two years – as long as I've been here," Michael answered, laying another cloth on the young man's abdomen, underneath his faded t-shirt. "Every once in a while he runs out of money to buy more of the drug and ends up here like this." Michael shook his head sadly. "We don't have the resources or knowledge here to really help him, and he refuses to be sent to rehab. All we can really do is take care of him until he's well enough to leave."

"Ah!" Bruce writhed beneath us, his face screwed up in pain, and I was startled enough to drop the cloth I was holding.

"Shh – shh, Bruce, it's ok," Michael whispered.

He smoothed the boy's damp hair out of his face and, leaning forward, very gently kissed Bruce's forehead. The young man instantly calmed down, his frenzied limbs becoming still.

I knew from that moment that I was in love.

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**For future reference, or if it was confusing - Demeter Felina:Demeter, Rina Baxter:Bombalurina, Michael Jenkins:Munkustrap, Thomas Jenkins:Rum Tum Tugger, Alonzo Boots:Alonzo, Jennifer Dotherings:Jennyanydots, Daniel Jenkins:Old Deuteronomy, Jemima:Jemima (d'oh), 'Lizzy'/Elizabeth:Etcetera, 'Vicky'/Victoria:Victoria, Bruce:Tumblebrutus. I think that's all for this chapter…R and R please!!!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Matron and the Flirt

**Zapharina:** Thanks! Yeah, I agree, it does seem strange to have them all be humans – but the idea popped into my head and just wouldn't go away! I hope you enjoy the rest of it.

**BuckyBucky Black 13:** Thank you!!!

**williammainnolden:** …I hope that's a good thing? Lol! Thanks for reading.

**cc: **I hope it wasn't _too_ confusing…or at least that it becomes clearer! Thanks for reading!

**lko:** I'm glad you like it!!

**health-critic: **Hey – I got your PM! Thanks so much – it's so nice to get an in-depth, longer-than-three-word review. You're right, the beginning did cause me some grief, but I tried a couple ways of starting it and decided straight-out exposition was safest. I hope the rest of the story is up to par!

**balamba: **Thank you so much!! Yeah, it's good to have canon (or at least as close as you can get to 'canon' with CATS) once in a while, isn't it? I hope you keep reading!

**irishdancerfromroi:** Wow, I am SO flattered!! Thank you!! Yeah, I am sort of afraid of him turning into a Gary-Stu – I'll have to watch out for that! searches through the collection of tragic flaws XD I hope I can measure up to your expectations from now on!

**MissQuaxoMistoffelees:** Thank you! Yes, Misto will be showing up sooner or later – probably not as you would imagine him, but he will be showing up.

**Krissy4:** Thank you! Here's the next bit. XD

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine. Rawr.

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**The Junkyard**

**Chapter 2: The Matron and the Flirt**

I'm not really sure how long I knelt there, listening to Bruce's gasps and Michael's quiet murmurs of comfort. I only felt the cold water of the cloth I held seeping onto my skin, leaving my hands clammy – after a while my knees started to hurt from their forced contact with the hard wooden floor, but still I didn't stand. Michael looked at me from time to time, as if to see how I was holding up. I guess he had no complaint with what he saw, because he just got on with his work. I didn't know how he could stand it as Bruce jerked and shook, at times flinging himself about in the bed so violently Michael or I was nearly sent flying.

Finally, though, I heard two sets of footsteps hurrying towards us. I looked up to see Rina coming back, her pretty face filled with concern. She was followed closely by another woman, an older one, with a sharp, pointed face and pale yellow hair.

Michael looked up as they came closer, and as soon as the new woman saw what was in the bed she swooped down upon our patient, examining him with a critically professional eye. "How long has he been like this?" she asked, to no one in particular, as she firmly lifted one of Bruce's eyelids to look underneath it.

Across from me, Michael sighed and sat up straight, pulling himself gently out of Bruce's grip. "I don't know, Jerri. Jemima came and found me, but I didn't see him come in." He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders, and I followed suit, feeling the sharp pain of a crick developing in my neck.

Rina was hovering uncertainly at the foot of the bed, eyeing Bruce with a detached but wary gaze, as the new woman – had Michael called her Jerri? – took my place at Bruce's side and continued the care we had been giving him.

Michael gestured to her back, looking suddenly exhausted. "Rina, Demeter – this is Jerri Lars, our live-in nurse and general medical advisor. If you ever find any problems with any of the people who come in here or with the children, she's the one to call."

Jerri looked behind her quickly at the two of us, giving Rina and I a thin-lipped smile, before she turned back to Bruce. Michael watched her for a moment, then turned and touched my elbow. I almost jumped at his touch.

"Come on," he said quietly, "he's in good hands. Will you be all right, Jerri?" he called.

"Fine, dear," Jerri's clipped voice answered immediately. "I'll give a shout if I need anyone."

"Good," Michael replied, seemingly satisfied, as he drew me towards the door. I followed numbly, still not quite able to get my impressions of Bruce's suffering out of my head. He was just a _boy…_

Rina touched my other arm – the one Michael wasn't holding – and I jumped again. "Hey," she said quietly, her red hair falling over her face. "You okay?"

"Y-yes…"

"I'm sorry to drag the two of you into that," Michael's voice broke in. I turned to look at him, and saw that he was staring at me, his gaze intense. "I suppose that might have been a bit overwhelming for your first day."

I steeled myself, forcing my mind to focus on the matter at hand. As cruel as it sounded, I was hardly going to be a good worker for the homeless if I nearly broke down over every drug addict I met! "I'm fine," I said firmly, willing myself to believe it. To my surprise, I almost did.

I must have convinced Michael, at least – he just nodded and finally took his hand off of my arm, leaving a void where his touch had been. My skin felt suddenly cold. "All right," he said. He sighed and ran a hand through his wild black hair. "Well, after that, I think I owe you something a bit more cheerful," he continued, sounding a bit happier himself. "What if I introduce you to the kids and Jennifer? The little ones will be sure to be all over you while you're working here, so you might as well get to know them."

"Sure!" Rina took over for me, calm as ever – or at least, if she wasn't calm, she was doing a great job of hiding it (also as always).

Together the two of us followed Michael back to the stairs, and this time went downwards – I remembered that he had said the orphanage was on the fourth floor, and we were coming down from the fifth. In the relative silence of the stairwell – the only sound was that of our feet echoing on the metal steps – I was pulling myself together, mentally and physically. Bruce had really shaken me, but I shook my head a little, (letting my golden-brown hair fall into my eyes), straightening my shirt, blinking and making sure I at least looked normal. I didn't want to appear disturbed before the children.

Michael stopped before the door which opened onto the fourth floor, his hand on the doorknob as he looked back at us. He grinned suddenly as a whoop of happiness burst from the other side of the door. "I ought to warn you," he said mischievously, "they can be quite hard to handle."

"Bring it on," Rina said, as if daring him. He glanced at her and quirked an eyebrow, accepting her challenge.

"Okay," he said, turning the knob. "Here we – "

"_Miiiiiikeeeeeyyyy!_"

"Augh!"

We had taken barely two steps into the large, sunlit room before Michael disappeared in a tangled pig-pile of tiny arms and legs, perhaps six or seven children shrieking with happiness as he flipped them over his shoulders, tickled them, or ruffled their hair. Behind the flailing group stood the tiny little girl Jemima, who watched awkwardly, gazing at the pile with shining, curious eyes. She was held in the comforting arms of a woman about the same age as Jerri Lars, but this woman was a bit pudgier and had a shock of red hair creeping out from underneath her quaint straw boater hat. Her face was broad, open and friendly, and I felt completely at ease just from looking at her.

"All right! All right!" Michael gasped, finally surfacing from the melee of wriggling youngsters. "That's enough! I need to breathe!"

"Breathing is overrated!" a little boy's voice called. Michael's hand dived into the group, and the same boy – whoever he was – giggled fiercely as he was tickled.

"Off! That's it, off!" Michael said again, emerging with his hair a complete mess and his collar askew. "Come on, guys. I have two knew people I want you to meet."

Almost instantly, the children scrambled off of him, and Rina and I found ourselves confronted and surrounded by several pairs of bright, shining eyes.

"They're both _girls,_ Mikey."

"Ooh! She has such _pretty_ hair!"

"Look! She has pointy shoes!"

"Mikey, do they talk?"

"Of course they do," Michael said warmly, picking himself up from the piece of floor he had (literally) been flung to and putting his hands on a few of the kids' shoulders, hugging them close to him. "This is Rina – " he pointed to her, and she waved, her face glowing with mirth " – and Demeter." I smiled, letting a real feeling of excitement and relief creep onto my features. They were all so _cute_…

"Now, I expect you all to behave and be very nice to them," Michael said mock-sternly, locking down into their pale faces. "All right?"

"Tchah," one of them piped up. "Of course we will, Mikey. What do you think we are?"

"Wild animals," Michael deadpanned. His grin grew a little bit. "Go on then, introduce yourselves!"

"I'm 'Lizabeth!" the first girl called, dancing up and down hyperactively on her toes. I recognized her from the lobby – she had been the brunette waif who had clung to Michael then, and now she was doing it again, grabbing a hold of his leg and laying her cheek on his hip. "I'm a big girl – I'm almost seven!"

"Big whoop, ditzy," the next child said with an overemphasized tone of bravado, a skinny little black-haired boy who looked barely older than Elizabeth. "I'm Paul. _I'm_ eight." Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him as Michael looked down at the next kid.

"Laura." This girl looked quite similar to Elizabeth, but her hair was darker and she was taller, her eyes slate grey and steady. "H-hi."

"I'm Adam," the next boy said. He was the oldest one so far, and again I recognized him – the brunette boy, his hair quite light, had been down in the lobby as well. He was perhaps ten or eleven, and had an open, honest face. Michael was smiling at him fondly, and I got the feeling that perhaps he was a little more mature than his rougher playmates.

"Pyotr. I am fourteen." This boy, also a brunette (but with darker hair than Adam), had a heavy Russian accent. He looked like he was just starting to go through his first teenage growth spurt, as his body looked thin and stretched, giving him a rangy aspect overall. He nodded politely at both Rina and I, and then turned away, trotting further into the room.

Finally the last orphan, a girl, looked shyly up at us, her white-blond hair glowing faintly in the sunlight which was pouring into the room from several large bay windows on either side. "I'm Victoria," she said softly. "I'm nine. And I love to dance!"

"That you do," Michael said cheerfully to her. "And you're very good at it, aren't you?"

"Yeah!"

"And of course you've already met Jemima," Michael continued, gesturing to where Jemima was hesitantly tripping up to him. As he spoke the little girl came up to his leg and grasped it much as Elizabeth was doing, two fingers stuck in her mouth.

I knelt down and smiled at her kindly, keeping my expression open and friendly. "And how old are _you_, Jemima?" I asked.

The little darling looked nervously up at Michael as though asking permission to speak. When he nodded kindly at her, she glanced up at me and, with her fingers still in her mouth, mumbled "Five."

"And a very _precious_ five-year-old you are too!" a new, motherly voice broke in. Jemima squealed as she was swept up into the arms of the red-haired woman I had seen behind Michael. The other children quickly scattered, scampering away from us into the rest of the room, which I saw was laid out neatly and efficiently in a sort of dormitory, lined with metal-framed beds and tables. Jemima giggled as the woman holding her nuzzled her cheek, and I found myself confronted a moment later by the matron's outstretched hand.

"Jennifer Dotherings. Pleased to meet you, my dears!"

I couldn't help but smile as I shook her hand, instantly put at ease by her friendly manner. Rina in her turn received a firm greeting, and then Jennifer let Jemima down out of her arms and patted the young girl on the back, sending her off to play with her more rambunctious friends.

"And what are your names, you pretty young things?" Jennifer prattled on cheerfully as she turned back to us, adjusting her eccentric headwear as she did so. "My word, you _are_ pretty young things indeed. You will need to watch yourself, Michael."

If Michael was blushing, it was nothing compared to the flush I could feel spreading across my cheekbones. I thought I saw Jennifer's eyes twinkle slyly for a moment, but then it was gone. "I- I'm Demeter," I said, managing to get over my astonishment. "But please, call me Demi."

"How beautiful," Jenny crooned, reaching out to give me a motherly pat on the cheek. "And what about this firebrand here?"

"Rina."

"Lovely – just lovely!" Jennifer sighed, clapping her hands together. "It will certainly be a help having you around here, I must say. The children are all such _dears_, but they can be very tiring at times. Sometimes I really don't know how I manage."

"You managed like a perfect angel," Michael said firmly, pulling Jennifer into a one-armed hug. "This place would fall apart without you and you know it."

"Little charmer," Jennifer giggled. "You and your brother will be the death of me someday with your cheeky ways."

Inwardly, I agreed most wholeheartedly. But Michael only laughed and shook his head, and Jennifer, after giving each of us a peck on the cheek, hurried away to separate Paul and Elizabeth, who had been scuffling over some toy a few yards away.

"Well," Michael said gently, "I think it might be time for you two and I to get to know each other a little better – just so we can get along while we're working. Come, let's sit down."

Rina and I followed him a little ways into the dormitory until we reached a long metal table, surrounded by benches and chairs. Little splatters of food scattered across the tabletop made me think that this was where the children must have eaten most of their meals. Michael walked to the far end of the table and sat down, gesturing for the two of us to do likewise. Rina instantly did so, crossing her legs comfortably, while I followed a bit more slowly and sat on the edge of my chair, watching the children playing out of the corner of my eye.

Paul had just jumped on top of Pyotr, much to the older boy's chagrin – it looked as those he had been trying to read as he lay stretched out on one of the beds, and he threw the younger child off him with a snarl of annoyance. Unperturbed, Paul turned his attention to Laura and bounded towards her, leapfrogging over her back in a surprisingly athletic manner. Laura. In her turned, merely groaned and batter him away towards Victoria, who was sitting on the floor doing some rather painful-looking stretches. As I watched, she pointed her toes hard, flexed them back, and then dragged one of her legs around so she was sitting in a perfect forward split, looking for all the world like a young gymnast.

My attention was slowly dragged back as I realized Michael and Rina had been chatting animatedly behind me, and suddenly heard "So what are you majoring in, Demi?"

I looked around sharply, barely registering that Michael had called me 'Demi' for the first time. He was looking at me kindly, one hand resting lightly on the table top. I mentally shook my head, furious at myself for being so completely overwhelmed by him. _That's it,_ I told myself. _Eyes cannot physically be that green. It's impossible. He's wearing contacts. He must be wearing contacts. _

I gulped, and finally managed to find my voice – "I'm double-majoring," I said quietly. "Public health and sociology."

"Really?" he leaned closer, and I had to steel myself against blinking. "I majored in sociology too!"

"Where did _you_ go to school, then?" Rina challenged, and I silently thanked her for taking the conversation into her own hands.

Michael laughed. "I double-majored at Brown University – sociology and psychology. I also took enough courses to minor in dance, but Brown doesn't give minors – "

"Dance?" I burst out curiously. "That's really cool!"

He blushed a little, and I found my heart skipping a beat again. _Damn it all to hell, stop that!_

"Yes, dance," Michael continued, smiling at me as if forgiving my interruption. "I sometimes audition for small parts around Boston – nothing spectacular, but then I never intended to make a career out of it…"

He was cut off as a shrill beeping noise floated through the air, and I realized with some embarrassment that it was coming from my trouser pocket, where I kept my increasingly old and dented cellphone. Pulling it out of my pocket with a mutter of apology, I saw that I hadn't actually received a call – the phone was merely sounding an alarm. It was ten o'clock. "Oh…."

"Ah, crap," Rina said. "Sorry Michael – we have classes at 10:30. Mr. Jenkins only said we'd be needed down here for a short appointment…"

"That's absolutely fine," Michael said kindly as all three of us stood up. "I'm sure my father will be sorry to have missed you. You're scheduled to come in next on Wednesday afternoon, is that right?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think that's right."

"Well, thank you both very much for coming," he said, shaking Rina's hand, then turning to me, suddenly professional. "We really appreciate your coming and being here."

His hand was even warmer than before as it enveloped mine, and I grinned as he smiled at me gently. "We'll see you then," I said quietly.

"Definitely."

And with that, Rina grabbed my arm and pulled me along with her as we went out of the dormitory (the shrieks of the children echoing behind us), down the stairs (pausing at the third floor so Rina could try and spot Tom Jenkins again), out through the lobby (we both nodded to the ever-serene Alonzo, who was still studiously at his monitors) and out into the street, blinking in the bright morning sunshine.

My classes that day still seem just a whirl of colors and sounds, not making any real sense at all. I do vaguely remember some of my other classmates giggling at the starry-eyed look on my face, and one of the cafeteria ladies having to ask me three times for my money as I stood silently in front of her, daydreaming – but not much else.

I seemed to come out of my romance-induced fog sometime around dinnertime, when Rina and I had both found our way back to our messy dorm room. Rina was giggling and flicking her hair about in front of our mirror, rhapsodizing about Tom Jenkins, whom she declared to be "_the_ hottest" guy she had ever met. I managed to agree with her quietly while lying on my own bed, staring up at the ceiling.

But apparently that wasn't enough for her – I found myself suddenly covered into a veil of red hair as Rina hovered above me, grinned wickedly. "And what about _you_, missy?" she said mischievously. "I saw the way you were looking at Michael. You've made a good choice, girl."

I blushed hotly and tried to roll away, but she followed me, tickling me and making me shriek with laughter as I tried to get away. "Rina! Come on, leave me alone!"

Rina giggled and flopped down on my bed, her expression turning sweet and concerned. "But you do like him, don't you? I could tell."

I blushed even more, hugging one of my soft pillows. "Really? Was I that obvious?"

"Well, no," Rina said seriously. "Maybe it's just because I've known you so long that I knew. But still, good choice. I'd go for him myself if he wasn't so serious."

"Rina!"

"What? It's a free country," she retorted cheerfully.

We lay there in silence for a few minutes, the only sound that of our even breathing. After a few minutes, though, I could sense that Rina, as usual, was becoming restless. My prediction came true when she sighed melodramatically and sat up. "You know what?"

"What?" I mumbled, feeling sleepy as I pushed my head under another pillow.

"I feel like going to Jillian's again tonight," she said, grinning slyly. "And you're coming with me!"

"Huh? What – Rina, get off! Ow! No, not the tube top – no, no, no, no, no, no! Rina!"

In a town with a sporting tradition as deeply entrenched as Boston and a baseball team as beloved as the Red Sox, it is only natural that there be a plethora of sports bars to house the team's fanatical supporters, and such it was with Jillian's Bar, Grille, Club, Arcade, etc, etc. In Boston lore Jillian's was, is, and shall be without end, amen. The club was housed in a fairly seedy-looking building just behind Fenway Park, but once inside it gave off an air of everything but decay. The whole building hummed with life, music, and various and sundry drinks every evening, particularly when there was a game on.

As Rina pulled me in (her dressed in a very provocative red dress and me desperately trying to keep my jean jacket closed over my bare midriff), I was nearly rendered blind by the dark interior, where I could just make out the form of a bar through the clouds of artificial smoke, strobe lights, and writing, twisting forms of people dancing. I blinked and tried not to cough while Rina checked her coat and came sauntering back towards me, her lithe, curvy form catching glances and catcalls as she went.

"Well, hey hey!" a familiar voice said in my ear. I jumped slightly and turned around, to find myself barely two inches away from a grinning Thomas Jenkins. He had changed since we had seen him at the Junkyard, and was now wearing a white wifebeater and black leather pants which were so tight I wondered that he had hadn't gotten arrested for indecent exposure. Around his head was wound a leopard skin-patterned bandanna.

"What are you doing here?" I choked out, not sure whether to be surprised or to burst out into peals of laughter.

His grin widened. "What, I'm not allowed to have fun in my off-duty hours?"

"Ah – n-no," I stammered. What possessed me to keep talking I'll never know, but I suddenly blurted out, "Is Michael here too?"

Tom didn't seem to notice my blush or nervousness. "Mr. Stuffed Shirt? Nah, he never leaves the shelter. I don't even think the idiot knows how to have fun!" He caught sight of Rina over my shoulder, and immediately his eye popped out theatrically, and he wolf-whistled cheekily. "Now that's a sight," he crowed. "How goes it?"

"Much better now you're here," Rina said gruffly, and I groaned aloud as she sashayed over to Tom, pulling him quickly into the mass of couples on the dance floor. I rolled my eyes and pushed myself further into one corner of the room, not quite sure what to do now that my 'escort' had deserted me.

Time passed, and I felt more and more out of place with each second which crawled by, lamenting my decision to let Rina drag me along. If someone had bothered to ask me, I would have much preferred being back in our dorm room, alone with a book and maybe some hot chocolate …or even at the Junkyard, taking care of the children and chatting with Jennifer Dotherings…or with…

After a while I shook my head and pushed my way through the sweaty, smelly crowd, wrinkling my nose as I tried to reach the bar – not for any alcohol (I was over twenty-one, but didn't have any intention of drinking liquor anyway), but just for something cool and wet to counteract the sweat I could feel trickling down the back of my shirt. As I finally managed to squeeze myself into a free place at the counter and caught the attention of a barman, I looked behind me to see Rina dancing with a man I hadn't seen before – and dancing rather…_freely_ at that.

She seemed to have abandoned Thomas, as he was nowhere in sight, and was instead twirling and being enveloped in the arms of a tall man with a rather disheveled mane of red-auburn hair. I couldn't really see his face, but made out what looked like expensive dark trousers and a silk shirt, and a watch on his wrist which looked like a Rolex – not the cheap kind bought for two bucks in an airport, but a real one. Not the sort of customer you would generally see at Jillian's, to say the least.

I watched him and Rina somewhat awkwardly until I felt a hand tap my shoulder. It was the barman with the glass of tonic water I had ordered, and I turned away just in time – the man's lips had just descended on Rina's practically bare shoulder, and I didn't want to look any more. Against my will, even in that crowded, dark, deafening place, my mind began to wander back to the events of the morning…and back to a dark head of hair, and piercing green eyes…

* * *

**And again, just in case it was confusing… Demeter Felina: Demeter, Rina Baxter: Bombalurina, Michael Jenkins: Munkustrap, Thomas Jenkins: Rum Tum Tugger, Alonzo Boots: Alonzo, Jennifer Dotherings: Jennyanydots, Daniel Jenkins: Old Deuteronomy, Jemima: Jemima (d'oh.), 'Lizzy'/Elizabeth: Etcetera, 'Vicky'/Victoria: Victoria, Bruce: Tumblebrutus, Jerri Lars: Jellylorum, Laura: Electra, Paul: Pouncival, Adam: Admetus, Pyotr: Plato. Remember, R&R!!!**


	3. Chapter 3: High Society

**williammainnolden: **Haha, thanks! And yes, the plot is certainly thickening. ::pours in some more intrigue::

**Zapharina:** Hello again, and thanks for your PM! Don't worry, Misto will be showing up – er, soon. Yes, that's it, soon. And I am very flattered by your praise – I'm glad other people seem to like AU! I saw in passing that you write AU Cats fic too – I haven't had time to read your stuff yet, but rest assured I will pop by sometime and leave you some reviews as good as the ones you've left me!

**balamba: **Haha, that's right Bomba! Look out! And you do suppose right, btw. Thanks so much for reading!!

**Crawler:** Three cheers for Admetus! Yeah, I like him a lot too, and since he got left out of the video – I think he's the ONLY one not credited in some way – I totally needed to get him in there. Thanks for reading!

**BuckyBucky Black 13:** Well, I guess my reasoning was that it would be hard for the actual cats to run a homeless shelter without _someone_ noticing, lol! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

**Rayen:** Wow, that would be awesome! I'm actually just pulling stuff about the homeless shelter off the top of my head, because I'm way too lazy to do research…but if I have any questions, I'd love to ask you! Thanks!!! (And don't worry, you're perfectly understandable. XD Are you from Chile?? That's kind of awesome!)

**Sarah Butler:** Thanks so much!!! I hope you keep reading!!

**DISCLAIMER:** Do I have to say it again? Fine – I am not, nor ever will be Andrew Lloyd Webber. Or T.S. Eliot, for that matter.

* * *

**The Junkyard**

**Chapter 3: High Society**

It took me a long time – to say the least – to haul myself out of bed the next morning. Luckily for both Rina and I, neither of us had classes on Tuesdays or we would have been seriously screwed. So it was about ten o'clock before I was able to stagger down to the bathroom further down the dorm hall, yawning and stretching the whole way. When I got back Rina was still asleep, snoring faintly and delicately in the back of her throat.

I was just making us both some low-quality coffee (brewing it over the hot plate Rina had 'borrowed' from her chemistry class under dubious circumstances) and wrinkling my nose over the odor of sweat and cigarette smoke that had clung to my clothes from the night before, when I heard her groan and sit up in her bed, the quilts rustling. "Coffee?"

"More like sludge," I called back tiredly.

"Coffee? Coffee, my darling, come to me…"

"Rina."

"All right, all right…you want to be an angel and bring me some? My legs hurt."

I frowned as I shuffled over to her bed on my knees, not bothering to stand up all the way. "You sore?"

"Dancing hurts after a while. If you had done any, you would be in as much desperate, agonizing pain as me."

"Wuss," I grinned, handing her the coffee in a chipped black mug, the one with a pair of glowing yellow cats' eyes on the side. "Who was that guy you were dancing with, anyway? I seem to remember you say Tom was – what was it? _The_ hottest guy in the world…?"

She gave me a dirty look over the edge of the mug as she drank, her red hair frizzy and messy from sleep. "I _did_ dance with Tom. And believe me, it was awesome," she purred, winking. I laughed while she sat up further, looking a little more alert. "But you know, it's always a crush on that dance floor. People get squished, bumped around. Suddenly I was dancing with that other guy."

"What was his name?"

She shrugged carelessly. "I dunno. I think Tom might have known him, though." I raised an eyebrow and Rina glared at me. "Come on, don't be such a prude. You know how it is."

"Uh, actually, no."

"Whatever. Anyway, he was hot enough. I saw no reason not to have a good time. That's what you need more of, Demi."

I leaned my elbows on the edge of her bed and let my head rest on my hands as I scoffed gently. "Yeah, right. I'm okay, thanks."

She suddenly smiled slyly, and I gulped. "Really," she grinned, putting her mug down precariously in her lap and leaning towards me. "I think I know the perfect way to get you to dance like that too. You just need the right partner, right?"

"Rina!"

"And I bet I know _exactly _what his name is, too. Does it happen to start with 'M' and end with – "

" – ichael? No," I interrupted stubbornly. "Come on, leave off it."

"All right all right," Rina finally sighed as she leaned back into a reclining position, eyeing a pile of books on the floor next to her bed with a look of disgust. "Ugh, I have to write that stupid paper for Mendel's water quality course today. Shit…"

I added in a sigh of my own as I got up and padded over to my desk, a messy wooden affair on the other side of the room which was covered with papers, books, and blunt pencils. I had two of my own papers to write before the end of the week, and had barely started preliminary research for either of them – but as I tried to make notes on a piece of paper, glancing back and forth between the page and the flickering screen of my ancient laptop, I found my mind was continually wandering.

In my defense, I wasn't only thinking about Michael. I was thinking of the children as well, of those little darlings scrambling around in that huge decrepit building. Of Jennifer, cheerfully sacrificing herself for them. Of Bruce – I wondered whether he was still there or if he had recovered enough to go back onto the streets. Even Tom garnered a few thoughts – I thought he was a bit of a jerk, but I wouldn't deny his beauty. And if he had given his time to procuring donations for the shelter, surely that meant there was some good in him.

The day progressed as most did when one is in college and bored – the morning spent muttering over books and cursing over typos, lunch being microwaved Ramen and a coke from the vending machines down the hall, and most of the afternoon spent procrastinating (with healthy doses of 'Ok. I'm going to do it _now_. Er, now. Yes, that's what I said, now'). It was only when my cellphone rang at about five o'clock that I was able to rouse myself out of my I've-finally-given-up-any-pretense-of-working stupor.

I rolled off of my bed from where I had been staring at the ceiling and twirling my hair between my fingers – much to the amusement of Rina, of course – and onto the floor, pawing through my discarded jackets and shirts until I found the cellphone, which was vibrating so violently it was dragging my coat across the room. Growling with impatience, I picked up and not so much spoke as yelled, "Hello?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, and then a hesitant voice said, "Demeter? Is that you?"

I _know_ my knees gave out and I fell in a shocked heap to the floor – I'm not sure whether my jaw dropped or not, but under the circumstances I wouldn't be surprised. "M-Michael! H-hi…er, sorry about that…"

Rina was instantly in my face, her eyes boggling. The cup of soda she had been holding sloshed over her hand and dripped onto the carpet. "_Is it really him_?" she hissed.

I waved her off as best as I could as Michael spoke again, a laugh in his voice. "No problem – I suppose I called at a bad time. And what I want to ask is probably going to seem quite rude…"

"Ah – uh, no, it's not a bad time. Go ahead."

"Well, I was just calling to ask – uh, that is – " Was it just me, or did he sound as nervous as I felt? "We at the shelter are being sponsored to have a class-A fundraiser event by one of our closer donors. There's going to be a reception of sorts at Top of the Hub tonight – you know, the restaurant at the top of the Prudential building?"

"Uh – yes, I've heard of it. I think."

"Yeah, well – I thought – er, that is, all of us here thought – that since you guys are a part of the team now you might want to come. It'll be fancy, and I'm really sorry it's such short notice, but…"

I seem to have had an identity crisis (complete with doubt, fear, feelings of inadequacy, the whole kit and caboodle) within the course of about three seconds. Thankfully some inner strength I didn't know I had ended up on top, and I found myself saying. "That sounds wonderful! I'd love to come. And I'm sure – " here I looked to Rina, who was grinning from ear to ear " – that Rina would love to come too."

"What?" she whispered fiercely, her pretty face suddenly screwed up in puzzlement.

"Great!" Michael said, sounding much happier while I giggled silently at Rina, who was now mouthing some pretty foul words. "The reception starts at seven tonight. Just give your names when you come in – I'll make sure you're both on the list."

"Sounds good. Thank you so much – "

"Don't mention it. See you soon!"

"Bye," I replied softly. The phone clicked and then whirred as Michael hung up.

"What. Is. Going. On!" Rina growled.

I laughed, feeling quite warm and calm as I slipped my phone onto my bedside table. "Relax, it's a good thing. Michael's invited us to a fundraiser tonight. Some fancy thing at Top of the Hub."

"Whoa, what? That restaurant at the top of the Prudential? The skyscraper?"

"Yup." I leaned back against my bed, letting a small smile creep onto my face.

"When is it?"

"Seven."

"_WHAT?_" In a flash, Rina was up and rushing about the room, rummaging in various drawers and practically tearing our tiny shared closet to pieces. "That's in _two hours_ and I haven't even showered yet today! Oh my god! Oh my god!"

A little less than two hours later, we trotted into the elevator at the Prudential building and pressed the top button. Rina, as usual, had gone for wearing red to match her hair and pale skin, and so was wearing a strapless dress with quite impossibly high heels. Myself, I had dragged out one of the only fancy dresses I owned – a black halter dress with muted gold threads woven through it – and a pair of heels which despite only being an inch and a half high were really killing my feet (I was more used to comfortable, practical shoes).

When we finally arrived at the top, we stepped out into a vision. I gasped as the outer walls of the restaurant – a darkly-colored, mahogany affair – showed themselves to be just vast panes of glass, giving us an unobstructed view onto Boston in almost every direction. It was dark enough that large sections of the city were sparkling with lights – the Hancock skyscraper, several blocks from the Prudential and just a little bit taller, had a pattern of windows that was lit up in the shape of a large sign saying "GO SOX." In the distance, I could make out the shape and lights of planes taking off from Logan airport, further out towards the ocean.

I finally blinked my way out of my dreamlike state to find that Rina and I were standing at the edge of quite a large crowd of people – soft, jazzy music was playing, several tables were set up as a buffet next to a large square bar, and many overlapping voices were filling the restaurant with sound.

As we gave our coats to an employee standing next to the elevator, a figure detached itself from the crowd in the dim light and walked quickly over to us in the dim light. It proved to be Michael, and I know I blushed. He was wearing a black suit and tie – the tie was loose about his collar – over a white shirt, and the light caught a thin silver bracelet he was wearing on his right wrist. "Hey!" he called as he approached. "I'm so glad you could come!"

"Thank you so much for inviting us," I managed to stammer. "This is beautiful…"

Michael saw me glancing out the windows again, starry-eyed, and smiled. "Yes, it certainly is. I have to admit, BJ always does choose the best locations for these things."

"BJ?" Rina questioned, trying to sound interested while simultaneously craning her head over the crowd – no doubt in search of Tom Jenkins.

"Bob Jones," Michael replied with a smile, his eyes twinkling as he observed Rina's antics. "He's our host tonight, and a huge benefactor of the Junkyard."

"Ah! Are these the young ladies we have been expecting, then?" a booming voice suddenly called over the mélange of people. The crowd parted not unlike the Red Sea at the sound, and my eyes popped out a little bit.

Waddling towards us was an _immensely_ large man: he wasn't all that tall, but his girth made up for any deficiency in that area, and more. His cheerful, blubbery face popped out from his black suit and white shirt, which seemed to be straining to stay closed over his stomach and chest.

"My dears, my dears! So pleased to make your acquaintance, of course, my pleasure," BJ chattered amicably as he waddled towards us. To my surprise I saw that Jennifer Dotherings (dressed in a puffy orange dress) was tripping along, giggling, on his large arm. "Have you eaten yet? _Do _try the shrimp, it is simply divine – as is the pork, and the _boeuf bourguignon_…do try it, do try it…simply divine!"

The huge man swept up to us with surprising grace for his size, lifting up first my hand, then Rina's, and kissing the air just above them. "My beautiful lady friend and I," he said gallantly, smiling at Jenny, "are honored that you are here. I hope you will enjoy yourselves – and young Michael as well! Splendid, splendid… Mr. Reginald! So good to see you…" As he spoke these words he began walking away from us towards another guest who was just arriving – and I giggled when I made out the shape of glistening white spats on BJ's feet. He was quite the eccentric!

"Jeez. Where'd you find him, Mike?" Rina asked, chuckling.

Michael grinned in response. "He's an old friend of the family, is old BJ. Practically an uncle to me and Tom. Plus he's rich, which is always helpful!"

"Are he and Jenny – ?" I asked.

"Together? Nah. BJ's very fond of her, but she's had her eye on Kevin Shanks for ages." At my questioning look, Michael went on, "He's our Director of Communications and Outreach back at the shelter. He's in Chicago right now, but I'll be sure to introduce you as soon as he gets back – "

"Michael? Won't you introduce me to your friends?" a new, female voice broke in on our conversation, and a woman glided into our little group.

She was sort of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Slim and tall, her skin was a gorgeous coppery-brown color, and her delicately draped black dress and shawl accentuated her figure. Black kohl, the same shade as her shining hair, outlined her eyes. As she spoke, she slipped one arm smoothly through Michael's and rested her cheek lightly on his shoulder. I flushed as she smiled serenely at me.

"Ah, of course – Demeter and Rina, this is Cassandra El-Bayoumi. She works for Massachusetts Social Services and is one of our biggest supporters in the state government."

"Just trying to do my part," Cassandra murmured. "Michael dear, there's someone I want you to meet from New York who's been thinking of initiating something like the Junkyard in the Bronx...pleased to meet you, ladies…"

I narrowed my eyes as she drew Michael slowly away from us – he looked back over his shoulder with an apologetic glance at Rina and I, but then turned and began talking with Cassandra. Their heads were very close together.

Rina, being Rina, said what I felt. "Bitch."

"Rina…"

"Well, at least he likes you instead of her. I can tell."

"Yeah, right," I muttered. "I'm going to get some food."

"Aw, Demi…don't get in a snit…"

I heard no more as I shuffled my way in my heels over to the buffet table through the crowd and numbly filled up a plate with helpings of tender steak, roasted potatoes with some savor-smelling herbs, and a delicate arrangement of asparagus arranged in the shape of a flower. Fancy food, to say the least. My heart wasn't really in it, however – all I could think of was that only the prospect of working with Michael and knowing he was taken could be worse than _trying_ to work with him when he was as gorgeous as he was.

After filling my plate, I made my way over to a table at the far end of the restaurant, and sat down next to the window. I had a beautiful view over the Charles River, which in the night was a dark stripe dividing the bright lights of Boston on one side and Cambridge on the other. Fenway Park was also visible at the limits of my vision. It was lit up like a Christmas tree – there must have been a game going on.

I looked down at my plate, smelling the delicious odors – ones far better than the crap Rina and I regularly had to eat at Tufts. But suddenly, when I picked up my fork, I found myself unable to eat.

I actually felt guilty. Here I was sitting at the top of the Prudential, in a high-class restaurant, eating food far better than I deserved, when Bruce was shivering somewhere on the streets from a cocaine high. When dozens of men and women were crowding into the Junkyard because they had no homes and very little food or money.

I put my fork down, feeling a bit sick, and laid my elbow on the table, my cheek in my hand. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn't hear Michael approaching until he was right next to me.

"Demi? Mind if I join you?"

"Ah! Oh – no, go ahead."

"What's the matter?" he said gently as he sat down next to me, laying his own full plate on the table in front of him and placing his jacket over the back of his chair. "You're not eating."

"I – well…" I blushed, glancing inadvertently at BJ's wide form as he moved gracefully about the room. I couldn't help looking out the window over the city before I turned to look at Michael again, and he seemed to understand all too well. He smiled gently and laid a comforting hand on my arm.

"Don't worry," he said warmly. "BJ's an extravagant host, but he's also a good one. Every time he holds a fundraiser he makes sure the kitchen sends any leftovers back with us to the Junkyard." He chuckled a little as he quirked an eyebrow in the broad gourmand's direction. "And with BJ, 'leftovers' means the best meal most of our homeless get all year."

I smiled gratefully as he let go of my arm and turned resolutely to his own plate, forking a particularly delicious-looking piece of pork. I dug into my own food in short order, and quickly came to the conclusion that I would never get used to eating crappy school cafeteria food again.

Soon I was feeling very full – and more than a little giddy from Michael sitting so close to me – but then I caught sight of Cassandra across the room, and my mood sank again. Now she was hanging on Tom's arm, but of course in my jealous state it seemed to me that she glanced over her shoulder at Michael far too often. Her smooth skin and classy demeanor both broadcast "ATTRACTIVE" across the room like a neon billboard, but I couldn't help thinking she was a manipulator – and didn't really care about the Junkyard at all.

I probably should have realized before then that Michael was more observant than your ordinary man. But because I hadn't, I was surprised when he turned to me, a bit of spaghetti dangling off of his fork, and said quietly, "You and Cassandra are making eyes at each other. Should I be worried?"

"I – uh…" After a moment I saw that his eyes were twinkling with mirth, and I allowed myself to smile. "Well, I actually thought it was _you_ and her who were 'making eyes' earlier."

"Cassandra and I?" he said, his eyes widening. "Are you serious?"

"Uh, yeah. She was sort of draping herself all over you."

"I suppose she is a little – ah, 'friendly'," Michael said thoughtfully, shrugging his shoulders. "But that's just how she is. She asked me to go out to dinner with her a few times, but I thought it was best we kept our relationship professional. Besides…" here he trailed off, and – I probably imagined it, but I thought his eyes flickered towards me "…she's not really my type."

"Oh." I wasn't sure what to say. So, as usual, I settled for blushing and staring at my nearly-empty plate.

My eye was caught by a flash of ginger which had suddenly appeared across the restaurant near the entrance, and a hubbub of loud, cheerful voices floated through the air. I couldn't quite make out who it was who had arrived – but Rina evidently had, because she suddenly rushed over to the table where Michael and I were sitting and almost dragged me out of my chair through sheer force, her nails digging into my arm.

"Hide me!" she hissed in my ear.

"Ow! Rina, what on earth – "

"Demi, it's _him!_ That guy I was dancing with last night at Jillian's! The one I – Christ – the one I _made out with_."

"Huh?" I looked back over at the entrance again – past Michael, who was staring curiously at both Rina and I – and saw that it was, indeed, the pale red-headed man, who was once again dressed in a very expensive outfit. Not sticking with just the Rolex, now he was also wearing a slender golden chain around his neck. Before I knew it, the man had stalked – well, more like _glided_ – over to us, and I found myself both shielding a quivering Rina and looking for the first time into his face.

And what I saw was not exactly soothing.

He was tall, taller than Michael or Tom, and had a – well, I suppose I would have to call it a 'mane' – of auburn hair, which was artfully tousled into a messy affair which left pieces of it dangling into his fierce blue eyes. His face was lean and pale, almost elfish – but his brow seemed to have an arrogant quirk to it, and the corners of his mouth were turned up in a perpetual smirk. His limbs were long and thin, his shoulders slightly hunched, despite the fact that he was still quite young, thirty years old at the most.

All this wasn't enough to really give me a bad impression of him. No, it wasn't that – it was rather that his head was constantly _moving_, waving slightly back and forth on his neck. I felt uneasy watching him, as though he were some sort of serpent, trying to work a hypnotic spell. Call me crazy, but that's what I noticed. And so when he smiled down at me – and then smirked at Rina – I couldn't help feeling afraid.

"Well, well," he said, his voice a smooth, rich baritone. He placed his hands on his thin hips and leaned over me, glancing with an amused grin at Rina. "What have we here, Mikey?"

Michael stiffened beside me, and when I looked around I saw something strange – his usually so open and friendly face was blank and cold. I got the feeling that whoever this man was, in Michael's mind he wasn't worthy – wasn't allowed – to call him 'Mikey.'

"Demeter, Rina," he said quietly, standing and gesturing calmly to the man, not really looking at him, "may I introduce my oldest brother, Mac. He's a great supporter of the Junkyard – "

"Actually," Mac suddenly interrupted, pushing his hair back from his face as he spoke, "I'm a multi-millionaire. And you're damn lucky I am, Mikey, or your stupid shelter would go down the drain and you know it."

The temperature around our little table seemed to have dropped about twenty degrees. Michael glared at Mac as he stepped a little closer to me, laying a hand on the back of my chair. "For god's sake, Mac," he said quietly. "Not here, of all places!"

Mac simply smirked a little wider. He glanced at Michael coolly, then back at me and Rina – and then, to my surprise, he completely abandoned the tough guy act, shrugged, and bowed his head very politely to the two of us. "Honored to meet the two of you. I've heard you'll be working at the shelter until Christmas, is that right?"

"Yes, it is," Rina said tightly, still remaining behind me. She clutched one of my hands behind my back, and I tried to give her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

"Excellent," Mac said jovially. "I look forward to seeing you there. Perhaps," here he turned to me, and I gulped "I might be permitted to take you out to talk about the public health courses you take at Tufts, Demeter. I've always taken an interest in the affairs of the university."

I was so shocked at his proposal that in my unwary state of mind I made the worst decision of my life.

"Ah – yeah, sure. That would be great."

"Fan-tastic." Mac smiled at me, and I saw that his teeth were almost unnaturally white. "I will see the two of you – " he smirked at Rina again " – soon, I hope."

He turned to Michael, who was staring at him with a look that was certainly not one of brotherly love. Michael's knuckles were white from where he was grasping my chair. "We should get together sometime, Mikey," Mac said breezily. "Play cards or something."

"You cheat," Michael said calmly.

Mac grinned. "Of course."

And with that he was gone, slinking back across the room towards the group which contained both Cassandra and BJ. The crowd seemed to part slightly as he walked, as though no one wanted to be near him – at the time, I just thought I was imagining it because I had taken such a quick dislike to him. I found myself wondering how someone who made me feel so nervous and afraid could ever be related to Michael – or Tom, for that matter. I shivered in my chair as Rina let out a huge sigh of relief, sinking down into a seat next to me.

"Oh man," she gasped. "That was sort of the most embarrassing moment of my life."

"Huh?" Michael cut in, looking hard at Rina. "Have you and Mac met before?"

Rina looked uncomfortable, and angry with herself, and settled back further into her chair. "In a way."

All three of us sat there silently for a while – Rina blushing, Michael fuming and me just sitting there trying not to feel awkward – and wondering why on earth I had practically agreed to go on a date with someone I had never met before. Eventually, though, Michael stood silently and picked his jacket up from the back of his chair. "I think I'm going to head back to the Junkyard," he said, sounding distracted. "You guys are supposed to come tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yeah," Rina muttered.

"Great. Well, I'll see you then."

"Hey," I said abruptly, plucking up my courage. "Do you need any help tonight? I mean, at the shelter? We were supposed to come very early tomorrow morning – maybe if I stayed at the – at the Junkyard tonight, I could help in the morning…"

My voice trailed off as Michael glanced back at me, his green eyes bright with surprise. It was only then that I realized what I had proposed probably wasn't part of standard procedure.

But, to my shock, Michael smiled widely. "That sounds like a great idea, actually! We could put you on the fifth floor and then in the morning you could help me with checking out the homeless we had for the night. Does that sound okay?"

I grinned. "Yeah, it does – as long as we can stop by the dorm so I can get a change of clothes. I don't exactly feel like sleeping in this," I continued, gesturing expansively down at my dress. Michael chuckled.

"You'll excuse me if I bow out," Rina said dryly. "I think I'm going to stay here and drown my sorrows for a bit, and then go back to the dorm. Sleep sounds good right now."

With that decided, Michael and I both headed over to the door, saying quick goodbyes to people as we went (BJ was the epitome of graciousness, but Cassandra gave me an evil glare as she shook my hand) and then we went down to street level in the elevator silently, leaning against the dark walls as the floors flashed past. Michael paid for my T pass (I had forgotten to bring enough change) and we finally made our way up to Chinatown from the underground train stop, emerging into the cold night air. My watch said it was about 12:30.

"So, uh," I started, unable to keep my curiosity in check any longer, "what was that with you and Mac?"

Michael looked at me sharply, and then shrugged. "We don't really get on, that's all. He's hard to tolerate sometimes."

"Is that because of his money or his attitude?" I asked a bit more cheerfully.

"We've never really been that close – Mac was in college when I was still in elementary school, so I didn't see him much," Michael said thoughtfully. "Mac went to Yale, rocketed straight through business school and ended up being CEO of a stock-trading company in New York. He made his first million within a few months – and never stopped taunting the rest of the family about it, obviously. Tom went to Stanford, out near LA." He chuckled and looked at me, winking a little bit. "I think California went to his head a little bit, don't you think?"

"Ah," I grinned. "So that's what happened."

"Yeah. Sometimes I think he should have just stayed and surfed his way to fame. He wouldn't even need to get on the board, he'd just have to take his shirt off and he'd have more money than any of us could dream of!"

"Michael! He's your brother!"

"What? It's true!"

"Well yes, but…"

He just laughed and kept walking, sticking his hands into his pocket He had undone his tie so it hung loose about his open collar, and my breath caught in my throat as the slight night wind whipped it softly across his face.

We stopped by my dorm so I could get a change of clothes – I was so happy to be going back to the Junkyard that I didn't stop to think about what any of the students in the dorm would have thought if they had seen me ("Did you see Demeter? She walked off with this guy – she came back to get some clothes so she could go stay with him! He had his tie undone, dude. That's solid proof"). We then walked the rest of the way to the Junkyard in a companionable silence, walking side by side down the nearly empty sidewalk. Even Chinatown had to have some down time, and this late at night almost all the shops and restaurants were closed. Only the neon signs were left on, blinking into the dark as buses rolled quietly past us in both directions.

When we finally got to Junkyard, Michael grabbed my hand (I jumped, something I seemed to be doing with increasing frequency of late) and led me around the building to a small side door. It was much darker in the alley we had to walk down, but I felt perfectly safe as Michael pulled me gently onto the door stoop and then pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, which opened onto the main stairwell Rina and I had gone up the other day.

We both went quietly up to the fifth floor, and then Michael stayed out in the stairwell while I went in and changed into pajamas (flannel pants and a sweatshirt – Boston nights were cold in October). The whole floor was empty, so I had my pick of the beds. I chose one about a third of the way down the room from the door, and then opened it so Michael could come in.

"Okay," he said as he came in. I walked over to the bed and sat down on it, sliding my legs under the covers. "I'll come and wake you up at about 5:30 – the days start early around here. Is that all right?"

"Yes."

"All right." He smiled gently. "Good night."

"Michael," I said hesitantly, as he began to walk away. I sat up a little in the bed as he turned back, his face partly in shadow from the dim light bulb above. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said instantly, sitting down at the end of the bed and regarding me curiously. "What's up?"

"I was – I was just wondering why you do this. I mean, work here."

There was a long silence. Michael seemed to be thinking deeply, looking down at the floor. Finally he took a breath and replied, "I'm afraid it's – personal."

"Oh – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pry – "

"No, that's not it," he said kindly. He reached out and grabbed my hand again from where it was lying on the covers, smiling sadly. "It's not that I don't want to tell you. I trust you, I know you wouldn't…It's just – not just my problem. My dad, and Tom…"

"I see," I whispered.

We remained sitting there together for a few minutes. He didn't let go of my hand. Eventually, though, he sighed and stood, and my fingers slipped quietly out of his. "Sleep well, Demi," he murmured, giving me a tired smile.

"Good night," I called as his footsteps padded away down the room. After a moment the light clicked off and I was left in darkness. Despite how tired I was, it took me a long time to get to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Woh-ho nelly, long chapter; and it was unexpectedly rough to write. Hmm. Just a quick note – I'm working solely off the 1998 video version of CATS to draw my characters, so I'm afraid there will be no 'Growltiger' or 'Griddlebone' (I did see the show with that section in it once live, but that was a long time ago), whereas there will be some sort of 'Pekes and Pollicles' bit. Most of the relationships and interactions will also be based on the video-version characters. Hope no one is too bummed by that!**

**As for characters in this chappie…er, you can figure it out, right? Oh, and a hint – more reviews makes me write faster. Just, y'know, a little hint. :D P.S. I have been to Top of the Hub – once. It's real! I highly recommend it if you're ever in Boston and want to blow some money! Especially the desserts…mmm…**


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